


bide the poet's breath

by GreyishBlue



Series: write me something better [3]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fix-It, Hawkward, Just two dudes flirting, M/M, Minor Injuries, Post-Canon, Tales Of Suspense: Hawkeye and The Winter Soldier, They finally talk about it a little bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25046863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyishBlue/pseuds/GreyishBlue
Summary: Bucky hasn't called, and it's been months. Clint is fine, he totally doesn't care, there's no resentment or pining going on, for sure. He's getting on with life, not dwelling on it.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: write me something better [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794742
Comments: 25
Kudos: 79





	bide the poet's breath

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, they're back! 
> 
> Clint Barton Birthday Bingo Bash Square 1 - Surprise

It's been a few months since Bucky stuck him with the check at a diner and a vague agreement to see him again. Clint held out hope for a bit, then reasoned the silence could be hero business, then admitted to himself that it was just some nice post-mission flirting after all. It's totally fine, he isn't hung up on it at all, just… well he had really expected… no. Bucky is just a snarky asshole, stunningly gorgeous when ungreased, but probably bad news overall. He's muttering half formed excuses into his coffee when his door nearly shakes out of the frame with the force of whomever is knocking on it.

Clint grabs a couple of throwing knives off the counter on his way to open the door before some asshole breaks it down. He yanks the battered door open, ready to stab someone at least a little for such loud noise this early in the morning. Standing there, looking like he’d actually lost a fight for once, is Bucky. His hair is wild except a patch that’s plastered to the side of his face with the blood leaking from his brow. The only part of him that doesn’t look dirt streaked or bruised is a new, darker metal arm, gold glinting between the shifting plates. Clint’s hand twitches, and he’s not entirely sure whether it’s to reach out to help or to throw a knife. It’s the grim line of a pained smile that decides him.

“Holy shit dude, are you okay?” he says as he steps back to gesture Bucky into the apartment.

“M'fine, s'okay if I use you as a safehouse for a minute?” Bucky’s words are a little slurred but he seems to be moving alright as he comes in, right until he stumbles sideways into Clint.  
  


“Jesus, yeah Buck, no worries. Come sit down, you look like shit.” Clint tries to keep the worry from his voice as he wraps an arm around Bucky’s chest and helps him to the ratty couch that’s been Clint’s favorite for years. At least any bloodstain would kind of blend in, at this point.

Bucky leans back into the cushions and closes his eyes the moment he’s seated, sinking into the dark purple fabric with clear exhaustion. Clint stands there looking at him for a minute, and has a very uncomfortable realization that this must be somewhat how Natasha feels when he comes to her looking like this. So he hurries to his bathroom to rummage up his first aid kit, well stocked by someone other than him regularly.

Clint sets down his supplies and starts to clean the cut that’s splitting Bucky’s left eyebrow. Bucky blinks the other eye open to watch. He's got that look on his face, the same one Clint felt tug at him in the motel when Bucky first asked for his help. It's more stubborn now and he's not actually asking, but he's quietly letting Clint fuss. He lifts his arms when Clint asks - with a wince, but no other complaint. Clint hisses out a sound of sympathy as he sees the bruising spreading all the way down Bucky's side. Darkest near his shoulder, near black mottled to purple, then fading through a concerning rainbow of colors as it spreads out across his ribs and back.

“What.. the fuck.. did you do?” Clint says, mostly to himself, as he runs careful fingers across each rib. 

Bucky hears it, of course he does, his face a complicated mix of shy and pained when he replies, “I stopped a truck.”

Clint's hands remain steady even as his voice cracks, "A _truck_?" He resolutely doesn't meet Bucky's eyes. He's got a crystal clear image of Bucky holding back an entire fucking vehicle with his shining metal arm, plates shifting and clicking under the strain, the lines of his body sharp and strong as he - Clint has to shake his head to clear it and focus back on searching for breaks with well practiced fingers. 

Bucky mumbles, clearly embarrassed even though Clint can hear a ghost of smugness in it, "It was just a little truck."

"A little-," Clint says, indignant and finally looking up to Bucky's eyes to see mirth there, "- I swear to - You're worse than Steve, you know that?" He presses softly along the last rib, thankfully unbroken, and barely represses the urge to flick Bucky, "If he got his stupid reckless streak from you I swear, I'm going to - just… "

Clint heaves a sigh as his sentence trails off. He wants to threaten Bucky - get a rise out of the guy to make up for the worry curled in his chest - but under that, he's just glad to see him okay. He decides this is way too many introspective thoughts for a morning and drags his hands over his face to breathe for a moment. He plans - coffee, aspirin, whatever a super soldier needs to soothe - his thoughts derail when he feels metal fingertips against his hip.

He glances over to see a sheepish Bucky, still distractingly shirtless, "You alright?"

  
It's absurd, Bucky asking Clint that when he looks like he's been hit by a truck, which is fair, considering. Clint nods anyway, sets a careless smirk carefully in place and says, "Yeah. Need a shower? The grease in your hair is worse than the blood. Second door to the right. I'll make coffee." 

Clint gets up fast enough to nearly trip on his way off the couch, doesn’t look back so he can’t watch a half naked Bucky walking through his apartment. Making coffee doesn’t take up nearly enough time or space in his brain, so he busies himself. He picks out his least stained sweatpants and a shirt for Bucky to wear, leaves them by the bathroom door. Back in the kitchen, he makes a tray of pizza rolls and a bowl of what could generously be described as salad. He’s seriously considering reheating his take out from Chen’s by the time he hears Bucky’s slightly steadier footfalls approaching.

  
  
“This what passes for a romantic breakfast in this day and age?” Bucky says, already sounding clearer, and Clint has just a moment of super soldier resentment before he turns to offer Bucky a filled mug of coffee.

Clint nearly swallows his tongue, he’s never imagined the Winter Solider could look so _soft_ . He’d hoped that giving the guy something to wear would curb his inappropriate thoughts issue, and he’s absolutely wrong. Bucky’s thighs are giving the sweatpants a challenge, and the cuffs are rolled up at the ends. The shirt fits him about as well as it ever fit Steve, which is to say just the worst amount of tightness for rational thought around him. Clint just manages to say, “Fuck you, I already got you breakfast.”   
  
Bucky laughs at that, takes the coffee from Clint’s still outstretched hand with a wink, and settles himself on one of the stools next to Clint’s kitchen counter. He seems just fine making himself comfortable, even though he hasn’t explained why exactly he’s here. Clint wants to ask why he couldn’t wait for medical to look him over, why he specifically came to Clint, but the possible answers loom big enough for him to stay quiet.

They make it through most of the pizza rolls before Bucky speaks up again, fake casual in a glaringly obvious way as he plucks the sleeve of what he’s wearing, “Is this Steve’s shirt?”

  
  
“Yeah, had to borrow it after mine ripped. Dunno how that keeps happening. Why, ya’ jealous or somethin’?” Clint says it with a grin but the wince across Bucky’s features gives him away. Clint goes still with the realization, takes a deep breath before continuing, “Figured you didn't wanna get into all that, you uh. Didn't call, or whatever, ya’ know?”

Bucky looks amazing when he’s blushing, the red flush dipping into the collar of his shirt, “I was… nervous. Kind of hated you in between moments of liking you. No offense,” He smirks, “...some offense. Then there was a mission, n’ felt like it had been too long.” 

Clint tries to keep himself under wraps, any hope coming through in his voice against his volition, “Why today, then?”

“Sam yelled at me.” Bucky mutters.

Clint winces, Sam's yelling is the worst. He has that precise balance of making you feel really cared for and like you fucked up royally in just the right amounts for maximum guilt. Bucky definitely looks like he’s feeling it.  
  


“He said a buncha’ stuff about how I'm not actually immortal. N’ he actually accused me of being a bad influence on Steve too.” He’s grimacing with the memory, but he powers through, “This is gonna sound stupid, but I felt like I'd be missing out on something if I didn't come here.”

Clint leans a hip on the counter edge, only accidentally ending up closer to Bucky, of course. He’s as casual as possible when he asks, “To tell me that, or for a sorely needed shower?”  
  


Bucky snorts. The joke helps, settles something in them both, and Bucky still looks determined rather than annoyed, “You're an asshole, Clint. But god help me, I really want to kiss you.”

“Really?”

Bucky frowns, tensing up and pulling back before Clint realizes how he sounded, incredulous being read all the wrong way. He chases after Bucky, presses their lips together before he can talk his way out of this. 

Bucky's lips are chapped, split enough at a corner for Clint to taste the copper of him, and so soft, yielding against him. His surprised noise melts into a soft groan when Clint drags his tongue carefully against Bucky’s full bottom lip, then takes his advantage and licks his way into Bucky’s eager mouth. Bucky kisses gently and deeply, hands coming up to cup Clint’s neck and jaw, cradling his face with a lot more care than he expected from this. 

By the time Clint pulls back, breath coming in soft pants, Bucky’s eyes are blown wide, barely a sliver of that shifting blue visible. Clint immediately decides this is his favorite facial expression in the Bucky catalogue. He cards calloused fingers through Bucky’s still damp hair, tugs just a little to watch Bucky’s reaction and leans in to kiss the gasp from his lips. 

They both miss the jingle of keys in the front door, so the happy barking as Lucky runs in startles them apart, each with some mix of guilt and surprise on their face. A moment later there’s a 70-some pound golden blur hitting Clint in the back of his legs with more precision than his archery. It’s not exactly the way he pictured falling to his knees in front of Bucky after kissing him senseless. 

Kate’s voice comes from the very edge of the kitchen where she’s glaring at both of them, “Aw, Clint, come on. You’re supposed to warn me about ‘company’, even if it's Barnes!” she actually does the little bunny ear gesture, “Lucky doesn’t need to see this.” 

  
Clint really wants to answer her, but he’s too busy wrestling Lucky on the ground. And trying very hard not to laugh at Bucky’s confused face moving back and forth between them and the purple-clad woman staring him down. He seems to realize Clint isn’t going to help him and adds a glare of his own in that direction, but Clint can’t see it past his armful of gold fluff.

  
  
“I didn’t warn him I was comin’, and he didn’t tell me he was expectin’ you. My apologies, ma’am.” Bucky uses his best polite voice and kicks toward Clint’s shoulder when he snorts at the ‘ma’am’ bit.   
  


“Ugh, whatever. Tell him he still owes me new arrows after last week, whenever he detaches from the mutt.” She tosses a leash across the couch as she retreats, muttering about not having time for old man shenanigans.

Clint pops up right after the lock-click of the front door, hair a mess and shirt partially covered in happy dog drool, “She gone? Oh man, I’m sorry. Kinda,” he gestures down to Lucky’s one eyed and smiling face, “So this is Lucky! He’s the best dog.”

Bucky tries to glare but fails completely with both of them looking up at him happily from the kitchen floor. He slides down off his chair to sit cross legged next to Clint, where he immediately gains a lap full of excited, friendly dog. 

Clint really doesn’t mind losing Bucky’s attention when he gets to watch the resulting tussle. Lucky seems to be trying to lick every inch of Bucky’s face while Bucky tries to pet him wherever he can reach with an unstoppable wiggle machine in his lap. Clint does eventually pull him off once Lucky gets a nice shot in at Bucky’s sore ribs, pointing Lucky sternly back toward the living room. 

  
“Told you he’d like you.” Clint smiles as he offers Bucky a hand up.   
  
  
“You’re right, he does seem like the best dog.” Bucky sounds incredibly earnest, and Clint feels his heart slip just a little further from his own control.   
  
There’s an awkward moment of just standing in his kitchen, and Clint wants badly to just lead Bucky back into his room, but there’s a stubborn voice in the back of his head. Something about not rushing good things, about letting himself have more than just physical relationships. The voice sounds disconcertingly like a mix of Nat and Kate, which makes him realize he really should at least try to listen. He figures out his best compromise and says, “You want to watch some bad sci-fi and make out on my couch?”   
  
  
Bucky’s eyes widen, and so does his smile, finally back to that predatory grace that sends little shivers down Clint’s spine, “Yeah, I think I’d like that.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Clint might be veering into other comic versions of himself, spot the references.. XD


End file.
